


We'll Find Our Way Home

by iamnightbird



Series: Carry On [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sequel, Werewolf!Stiles, blind!Stiles, but not anymore, it's not gonna be near as long as the original, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3320264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnightbird/pseuds/iamnightbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m leaving. </p><p>Don’t worry. I’m coming back. It’s just for a few weeks. I need some time. For myself. To find … something. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I just feel like there’s something to be found.  "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You guys asked for it. So here it is. The epilogue/sequel to Sinking Like a Stone (Carry On). I didn't have it in me to write a real chapter yet -- but with a HUGE response to my author's note, I decided go ahead and give you guys a look at what is to come. Because, in the next few coming weeks, I do plan on writing on this.

_I’m leaving._

_Don’t worry. I’m coming back. It’s just for a few weeks. ~~I don’t …~~ I need some time. For myself. To find … something. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I just feel like there’s something to be found. Something got shaken inside of me when Deucalion bit me and I don’t know what it was. I need… I just need some time. Some time to get used to seeing again. Some time to get used to the wolf that was forced on me._

_I never wanted this. Everybody knows it. Even if it did – I want to say fix me, but that would categorize me as a item. Or an object that was shattered and needed repairing. I didn’t need fixing. I’m just – I don’t know where my mind is right now and I need to find it. Maybe that’s what I’m looking for._

_Part of me thinks that I should be happy. Should I be? I … don’t know much anymore. Please don’t worry. Please. That’s really the last thing that I want. If you want to be mad, that’s okay. I’ll take it all when I come back. Because I will. Like I said, it’s just a few weeks. A month at the most. I just wanted to make sure that no one freaked out._

_Scott – don’t come looking for me. I know that’s the first thing on your list to do. You won’t find me. I know how to cover my tracks. Bud; I’ll be okay. Just trust me on that one, Scotty. I know the golden boy inside of you wants to save me from myself; but I’m not even sure what inside of me needs to be fought. Let me fight this battle on my own, Batman. I’ll be back before you know it._

_Dad – I’m sorry. For so many things. For scaring you to death too many times to count. For being responsible for more than half of the gray hairs on your head. For making you second guessing having a kid. Just know that one thing always remains the same. I love you. I always will. Make Scott keep your diet up while I’m gone – I’ll be disappointed if you fall back from it while I’m gone. It’s just a few weeks, I have faith in you. Keep the piano tuned for Derek, will you? You can ground me for a lifetime when I get back. When I’m in a better place._

_And Derek –_

_Thank you. For everything._

_Stiles Stilinski_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at [motherofangst](http://motherofangst.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _" I can't get to sleep. I think about the implications of diving in too deep, and possibly the complications. Especially at night, I worry over situations I know will be alright. Perhaps it's just imagination. "_ \-- Colin Hay [Overkill]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. Since I wrote SLAS before season 3a, I feel like there is a few things I need to establish about canon in my story. It doesn't adhere to anything from 3a on; since Deucalion and his pack just appeared in the last chapter of SLAS.  
> Derek is still an alpha. Boyd and Erica are alive, and Jackson and Isaac are still in Beacon Hills. Also, unfortunately, I wasn't able to get this beta'd. If you see a grammar or spelling error, please let me know and I will go in and fix it. Thank you.

Tires ground against the dirt road – shaking the Jeep that tried far too hard for its age. Making everything inside of the vehicle quiver like a drowned dog in the cold. The CDs in the center console clattered, the lukewarm water bottle jostled, and the driver’s body jerked at each bump and dip. The old car was not exactly a gentle ride. As the tires turned against its surface below, the rubber was probably lacking the proper friction; legally bald as it struggled against the elements. The sides of the baby blue exterior beginning to mare with dirt and grime.  
Hands gripped tightly to the steering wheel, both muscle and power steering fighting against the turn of the rocks under him – white knuckling the machine. A mix CD drowning out all of the above and blaring into the ears of the one operating the death trap.

\-- _Hello, daddy. Hello, Mom. I’m your C-C-C-Cherry Bomb._

Not even the Runaways could distract him from what bristled under his skin. From the thoughts that ran rapid in his head – pulling off the road as the almost full moon, missing a small chunk, reflected against the muck covered rear window.

_\-- Have you, grab you ‘till you’re sore._

Hands grabbed at the keys with a groan, killing the engine as it puttered and eventually died out – the purring disappearing to nothingness. A head resting against the steering wheel as the sounds of crickets and the wind pushing at his heap of metal instead filtered into his senses. Letting out a shaky breath, ballooning from his chest, long lashes fluttered shut and cast shadows in the dark across speckled, pale skin. Long, nimble fingers curled into fists – pushing claws through nail beds to dig into the palm of his hand. Finding himself, at the moment, not caring about the blood that more than likely seeped onto the steering wheel where his hands framed it – however, he was sure he would be pissed at himself later to see the crimson splotches against the automobile he held so dear.

_I’m leaving._

He felt it coming on again – but he had noticed a pattern. His heart rate was up. Through the roof, actually. Palms sweating. Shaking. Breath hard and heavy, almost a wheeze. _Anxiety._ Stress. Panic. It was a trigger.

A trigger of pushing forward a previous aliment. And, thankfully, he continued to catch it after pulling off of the road – there were warning signs. A sharp, burning headache in the back of his skull. All too reminiscent of the car accident that felt like lifetimes ago.

When he finally blinked open his eyes, there was nothing to process. The night had become impossibly dark; and it wasn’t the fact that there weren’t any street lights around. He was a _werewolf_ now, he should be able to see perfectly in the dark.

Science would show that experiments reproduced over time showed the same results – Erica’s epilepsy. Scott’s asthma.  

_Stiles’ blindness._

 

* * *

 

_I’m worried about Stiles._

Scott was like a broken record. And Derek would’ve already snapped – but, the thing was, that was the same mantra that was running through the werewolf’s head. _Derek. Thank you. For everything._ No amount of rereading – no amount of trying to _read between the lines_ – was going to make that make any more sense. Make it more than what it was, or less.

The line about the piano is what worried Derek the most; surely Stiles knew that it didn't just take a few weeks for a piano to go out of tune. His father had been paying to keep it tuned for years; why would Stiles mention it now? The enigma of the man never ceased to frustrate the alpha.  _  
_

Derek needed air, not sparing an explanation to the pack that was gathered in the small room before, holding his breath, he pressed himself outside. The first thing he noticed was that it was getting late. Eyes casting across the cars parked out front; noticing the way that the dying light caught the reflective materials on them. Making him squint as he followed the source up – it was dusk. Lips twitched at the implications that it brought about.

 

_Back before, before Stiles regained his sight, Derek spent a lot of time over at the Stilinski home. It made the Sheriff feel better because there was someone there watching his son. Albeit, Greg knew better than to think that Stiles couldn’t handle himself. He just … worried._

_Derek let himself into the home with the key that the Sheriff had loaned him, honing in on Stiles’ heartbeat. He was upstairs, in his room, sleeping – judging by his steady heartbeat. Stiles’ heartbeat was rarely steady; usually erratic like his nature. Hands flailing, mind constantly diving down the rabbit hole._

_He was quiet as he did so, making his way up the stairs to Stiles’ bedroom. An out of place scent entered Derek’s senses. It had a tinge of burning; incense. Before all of this happened, Stiles hated candles and incense. He wondered what had drawn him to the luxury now.  He noted to himself, as he approached the young man’s door, that he couldn’t have been asleep long, seeing as incense didn’t last that long._

_He shouldered the door open gently, eyes drawn to the human on the bed. Closer, Derek recognized the scent. It smelled like the preserve. The forest. He assumed the stick of incense had some fancy name – but, the realization behind why Stiles was using it broke his heart._

_He missed the woods._

_It was no secret that the pack’s escapades now excluded Stiles; the teenager usually exiled to his home. They didn’t want to risk the safety of their human. One little slip up – one moment of someone not watching Stiles – and everything was over. It made the werewolf’s heart ache to even think about Stiles getting hurt because they couldn’t protect him. It had hurt bad enough the first time, but now – they all had to be more careful. Stiles’ critical brush with danger pushed them all into the fear of losing him._

_Derek hesitated for a moment, a rare sense of anxiety coming over the male, before he approached Stiles’ bed. Lingering for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. The male looked … peaceful. Long lashes fluttered shut, the light from the day outside swimming in in golden bars and dancing across Stiles’ porcelain flesh and down his sheets. Casting against his long lashes and decorating speckled cheeks with the silhouettes of shadows. He was so … vulnerable. Tangled in his bedsheets. But, wasn’t that just like him? A perfect mess of white fabric, shaky breaths, and breath that reeked of stale popcorn. Derek couldn’t help the smile that twitched at the corner of his lips before he was placing a gentle hand on the other’s bicep._

_“Stiles. Wake up – I have a surprise for you.”_

* * *

_Derek had gently led the other to his car, helping him into the passenger seat and making sure that he buckled up before slipping into the driver’s seat._

_Stiles was curious as to where Derek was taking him, but each time that he asked he got a grunt in response. So, the human relented. Leaning back against the leather seats as he fluttered sightless eyes shut – and waited. For what? Derek was sure as hell making sure that Stiles didn’t know._

_Eventually, after what felt like forever to the male, he started as the car came to a halt. On impulse, reaching out and grabbing at the center console as his body rocked._

_“We’re here,” Derek announced, as if the sudden jostle of the car – rocking what felt like his thoughts – wasn’t even for Stiles to realize. The werewolf came around the car and helped the other man out; “Hold onto me, I’m going to lead you somewhere,” he told him softly._

_Stiles did as he was asked. A small, amused chuckle fell past his lips. If he could **almost** see Derek’s eyebrows rise in his mind, “What’s so funny?”_

_“I was going to make a guide dog joke, but you probably wouldn’t appreciate it too much,” he mused, a familiar twinkle that Derek couldn’t help but smile at in the other’s honeydew eyes._

_Derek snorted, shaking his head despite the fact that Stiles couldn’t see it, “Shut up and let me lead you,” was his simple response._

_Eventually, Derek was stopping them with a gentle, “Sit – “ hand on his shoulder. Stiles did so, laying both hands on the ground to feel out his surroundings. Grass underneath him; the ground slightly moist._

_“Do you know where we are? Think about it for a minute. Listen to your surroundings. Smell them. Tell me where you think we are.”_

_Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but instantly closed his jaw and thought better of it. He obliged, inhaling deeply as he prickled his ears and listened. He could hear the beginning of crickets. He could hear leaves dancing against the wind. The soft sound of frogs. The rippling of … water? Water against a shoreline.  
“We’re in the preserve?” he asked, head turning in the direction that Derek’s voice had come from. “By the lake.”_

_Stiles imagined that Derek was smiling, and suddenly there was a touch in the darkness. A soft hand on the back of his neck. “Good job. I – do you trust me to do something? You’ll feel pressure, but – I promise I won’t hurt you.” As he spoke, he could feel Derek’s other hand taking the hand of his own closest to the lupine._

_“I trust you,” he responded, voice barely a whisper._

_There was nothing for a small beat – before he could feel the pressure of **something**_ _pressing into the back of his neck, and a warmth trailing up his arm and down to his toes. He was confused for a long moment; until **sparks** of light entered his vision – Stiles choking on a breath that refused to push itself up his throat; dying on the route._

_Or – was it? It wasn’t his vision. It was his mind. He should’ve known better than to allow his heart to falter in his chest. As the colors of the lake and greens of the forest filtered into his mind, he realized what Derek was doing. He was leeching memories to him, whilst taking the pain of the claws in the back of his neck. He wanted to protest. Wanted to – but what came next stopped him in his tracks; skidding to a rest. Cogs in his brain stalling and shattering into millions of pieces like a struck mirror._

_A gasp stuttered in the back of his throat when he came to notice the image that Derek was giving him – the image that Derek had seen the moment they got to the lake. Oranges and reds painted themselves across the laketop. Greens and grays shaded the forest around them from the low lighting of dusk. Settling all around them in an almost erethral glow._

_A sunset. Derek was letting him see a sunset. It felt like a **gift.** And if Stiles had not been so wrapped up in the imagery before him, he would’ve noticed that his façade that had been so carefully placed together with safety pins and duct tape had shattered; tears shimmering against the low lighting of the sun disappearing._

 

Stiles sat atop the Jeep, the metal cold beneath the material of the clothing that he donned ; his episode had long past. Albeit, he had decided to stay a while in his current location. Camp for the night – eyes on the horizon as he tucked knees up to his chest. Feeling his own heart beat out a cadence against his kneecaps. Whiskey hues on the sun before him, casting an array of the warm side of the spectrum around him – soon setting below the tree-line and blanketing him in darkness.

The new wolf honestly didn’t know when he was going home. Or what it was he was waiting for. Looking for. He just knew that he would, hopefully, know it when he saw it.

After the stars above him began to twinkle and flick at him, Stiles dragged himself off the top of the Jeep to opt for crawling into it. Leaning his driver’s seat back. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it would do.

He didn’t feel that tired, but once his eyes closed he was lulled to sleep by the soundtrack of crickets and frogs. And he thought of Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very much appreciated. I am very anxious about this sequel and would love opinions thus far on it.


End file.
